


Of Pizza Bellies and Randy Colonels

by ladyflowdi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Humor, M/M, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2007-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/pseuds/ladyflowdi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of earth food and debauchery.  And stripping.  There can never be enough stripping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pizza Bellies and Randy Colonels

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in 2007, mildly drunk, one Saturday night. In my experience, the best stories are written just like that.

John might not have looked it, but he really, really loved to eat.

Greasy hamburgers loaded with bacon and cheese. Browned chicken fried to perfection. Meat loaf with runny gravy and big, fluffy mashed potatoes. Cold vanilla ice cream with apple pie on the side. Fresh dates and honey on soft basboosa bread. Once, he’d eaten so many spiced oranges that if he thought about it hard enough, he was sure he could still feel the slight grit of sand between his teeth.

It was funny, but Pegasus hadn’t been so much of a culture shock to him in that respect. There were some things he really loved here, too, like the nihanu bread Halling’s sister made that tasted like pears. There was the tuttle root soup which John hadn’t realized could be so good, especially in the hands of someone more capable than Teyla -- though that wasn’t to say Teyla wasn’t capable, just more so with a weapon in her hands than a spoon. 

Food had been good to him in Pegasus, generally speaking. Still, nothing beat food from home, even the kind of food that was so bad for you it should have come with a Surgeon General’s warning.

“God, _pizza_ ,” Rodney murmured dreamily. John smelled tomato on his breath, and he may have wrinkled his nose if his own breath wasn‘t just as rank. Rodney didn’t look like he much cared, licking his lower lip and sighing happily. “Whatever I’ve said in the past about General O’Neill, I take it all back.”

“A god among men,” John agreed, drowsy and lazy and in need of a nap right the hell now. He pet his gently rounded pizza-belly and yawned, jaw cracking. “Sleep.”

“Mmm.”

“C‘mere.”

“Ew. No.” Rodney wrinkled his nose. John could see him out of the corner of his eye, slouched in the loveseat, his legs splayed, laptop on John’s desk. They’d undressed at some point, though John was hazy on that part, and Rodney was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers that had been washed too many times. They were too short, almost indecently so. Einstein beamed at him from Rodney‘s crotch. “You smell like garlic.”

“So? Smelled worse.”

“You smell like garlic and _Aqua Velva_.”

It was a half-assed insult. John grinned. “You know you like it.”

“I’m not the one inflicting my breath on other people.” He pushed the third pizza box across John’s night stand with one socked foot, sending an empty beer bottle clattering to the floor. It was ignored by the both of them.

“Mmm,” John murmured, and scratched his calf with the callous on the heel of his other foot. “If I eat another slice I’m going to puke.”

“Wimp.”

John glared as much as possible. That was to say, barely at all, seeing as how his entire _face_ felt bloated. “I’m military commander of this base.”

“And men half your age could eat you under the table,” Rodney said. John watched, amused, as a flame of red skittered up his cheeks. Rodney glared. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a word.” John took another slice anyway, if only to get the taste of garlic ass out of his mouth. “I’m bored.”

“And?”

“Make me un-bored.”

“What am I, a one-act comedy routine? Leave me alone, boy-man.”

John heaved a melodramatic sigh and chewed as he stared at the ceiling. His clock said it was seven, and okay, as much fun as it would be _in theory_ to eat pizza all night, his gut told him that he’d already pushed it, buster. 

It was cold and raining. Ronon was very likely already unconscious -- for such a big guy he had a hilariously low threshold for alcohol. Anyway, John was too full to run or spar or anything. He’d probably sweat grease or vomit tomato sauce out of his nose. 

He didn’t want to watch a movie. He’d already seen everything the Daedalus had brought on their last run -- more romcom than he was strictly comfortable with, and the torture-horror flicks with shit John didn’t think even the _Wraith_ would stoop to. He’d watched the Harry Potter films eight times and Lord of the Rings fifteen, all of the scifi Rodney had smuggled in, including the awesome new Outer Limits, and all the TV on DVD he’d been able to trade for. John was now happily up to date on Buffy, the Sopranos, Seinfeld, CSI Las Vegas and Alias. 

John sighed as loudly as he could and peeked out of the corner of his eye to see how that had come across.

Rodney kept staring at his screen.

John sighed again, ruffling his hair slightly for Rodney’s benefit. The man didn’t so much as twitch.

“Raawdd-neee,” John sing-songed. 

Nothing.

“Rodney.”

Nothing.

“Rodney.”

Nothing.

“Rodney, Rodney, Mered--”

“What, yes, WHAT, and what have I _said_ about calling me that, huh?” 

“But Meredith is such a pretty name.” John picked at the side of his nail. 

“I hate you.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still bored. Entertain me.”

“Entertain yourself,” Rodney said, all wounded dignity, and went back to his work.

Dammit. John sighed and stared at the ceiling. This was why John liked to work; he didn’t know how to relax. McMurdo had practically killed him for the very same reason. Ten minutes of flying, and twenty three hours and fifty minutes of sheer, unrelenting monotony. 

He turned his head and looked at Rodney again. He was slouched in John’s loveseat, one leg straight out, the other bent at the knee and resting on the arm rest. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp Rodney’s inner thigh looked like cream, warm and soft. He was hairy, yes, but he’d been blond as a kid and only the hair on his head had seemed to change its mind halfway through his life. John could trace his eyes right up Rodney’s shorts, and when Rodney shifted his laptop and got more comfortable John could see the barest hint of his balls resting on his thigh, the warm curve of cheek, disappearing into a shadow that required more investigation.

He couldn’t manage to stand up -- that would be asking too much of the poundage he’d packed on in the last two hours. His whole sense of balance was off. God help them if the Wraith attacked or if the Genii came in, guns blazing -- they’d find a bunch of bloated men too full to move.

He rolled off the bed to his knees, and thank _God_ he’d invested in his blow job rug, because it kept him from breaking his knee caps against the floor. He crawled two steps over to the loveseat, and he’d have snuffled his way right into the crease between thigh and groin if Rodney hadn’t put his foot on John’s chest and given him a shove. “Uh uh, I don’t think so.”

“Come _on_ , Rodney,” John said -- he was _not_ whining dammit -- and slid his hand under Einstein and up Rodney’s thigh into the space he wanted to lick. “A bored colonel is a dangerous colonel.”

“A bored colonel is a _randy_ colonel,” Rodney said. If his eyebrow was any higher it would have hit his hairline. He hadn’t moved his foot from John’s chest, but John could tell he was winning Rodney over. It was all in the eyes. And also the groin, seeing as how Einstein was becoming very happy to see him.

John brushed his raspy cheek against calf and shin, nuzzling into the bend of Rodney’s knee. “I resemble that remark,” he said into Rodney’s thigh. John felt him squirm, and watched the flush creep up Rodney’s neck. 

Rodney glared, arms crossed. John didn’t know how a man could still look indignant while the outline of his cock filled and started to poke up against the wash-softened material of his shorts. John hid the smile in soft skin and gently kneaded Rodney’s foot, lifting it up over his shoulder and slipping in so close he could see the flecks of gold in Rodney’s eyes when they widened.

Kissing Rodney was one of John’s favorite pastimes. For being such a big guy he was remarkably gentle, and he kissed with slow certainty, seducing John like it was the first time every time. John always went in with more roughness than he meant to and always ended slave to those kisses, sighing when Rodney licked into his mouth, sucked so softly at his tongue and nipped his lower lip until his entire mouth felt hot and swollen. 

John stroked both hands under Rodney’s boxers, a tight fit, but it was enough. He pulled Rodney’s hips to him with one tug, and the laptop almost ended up on the floor. Rodney gasped on a pissed off snarl, and it was all John could do to keep from laughing. “Hello,” he said happily, grinning into Rodney’s leg. 

“Hate you,” Rodney choked, “I hate you so very much, I am supposed to be _working_ , you are doing terrible things for my schedule, I’m going to have to push this experiment to next _week_.“ As if it wasn’t Sunday night.

John pressed another soft kiss to Rodney’s inner thigh, then another, then one more, licking at the tender skin and finally nosing into the crease of his thigh where he smelled the best. He carefully stroked his fingers up under Rodney’s shirt. Rodney might have sucked his gut in, once, but there wasn’t much of a gut left to suck in anymore, and besides, John liked the soft curve, the warm weight in his hands. He stroked, thumbed Rodney’s belly button, then swept up to brush his nails across tight little nipples.

Rodney made no sign of enjoyment, still trying for indignant, but John was well versed in the language of all the things Rodney didn’t say. He was wuivering, and his nipples were so hard that with every brush of John’s fingers he flinched, like they hurt. John pinched the left one until Rodney’s hips involuntarily jerked up into him, until his shoulders trembled. The nub of flesh got impossibly tighter under John’s fingers and he left it that way, trailing his fingers to its neglected twin.

John slipped his free hand further up Rodney’s leg until the boxers were bunched around his wrist, and gently stroked his thumb up Rodney’s hard cock. It was rigid to the touch, skin stretched tight. Einstein wasn’t so much beaming at him anymore as leering, and John grinned again when an embarrassingly high squeak came from above. “You’re really hard here, Rodney. What kind of work were you doing, anyway? Do I need to be jealous?”

“Hate,” Rodney hissed, head tipped back. “Seriously, hate you so very much, with all the passion of a thousand suns.”

Rodney’s balls were heavy and full, and he was wet with pre-come, John discovered, as he fingered the head softly, playing with the foreskin in a way he knew Rodney both hated and loved. He tugged gently at it as he pressed his thumb into that spot on the underside, right under the head. Rodney had stopped muttering, and when John looked up, he could just see his eyes, glassy and stunned. He gave Rodney’s dick one warm stroke and leaned up to murmur in his ear. “I thought you said you had work to do.” Rodney twitched against him, so John rewarded him by scratching his nails ever so lightly up from the base of Rodney’s dick. “I‘m entertained, now. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing.” He tipped his head in the infuriating way he knew Rodney hated. “Unless you’re distracted, of course.” 

“Distracted? Of course not. I’m perfectly fine, great even! And oh, um,” because John was gently brushing across that spot between cock and balls, the most sensitive spot on Rodney’s whole body, and Rodney was too busy arching, gasping, to finish his thought. The leg over John’s shoulder shook against his ear, and from his periphery he could see Rodney’s toes clenching and unclenching. 

He brushed his mouth up Rodney’s chest, licking gently at nipples poking through the soft fabric of his shirt, until he could gently nip at the spot under Rodney’s ear that drove him nuts. He was rewarded with Rodney’s jerking, rasping breath, fingers sliding through his hair to his neck, down his back and then back up. “I could stop. Let you get back to work.”

“No-no, not necessary,” Rodney said, eyelashes fluttering. “I need a break, anyway. For coffee. And also, sex.” 

John grinned into Rodney’s clavicle. “Somehow, I thought you’d see it my way.”

He couldn’t pull Rodney’s shorts down without moving, and the last thing John wanted to do was move, so instead he pulled Rodney’s cock and balls free, the lip of his boxers resting right under his balls and raising them high. Soft, warm and so tender, they fit in the palm of his hand like they‘d been meant for it. He stroked the skin between them, watching his fingers move, watching Rodney’s cock as it twitched and left a smear against his belly.

Rodney turned his mouth up to John’s lips, and John’s spine melted out from inside of him, because yeah, God -- Rodney was turned on, vibrating under John’s hands, like his skin was humming all on its own.

John pressed kisses down Rodney’s sturdy neck. He traced his tongue down the long line of tendon from neck to collarbone, tasting salt and sex and _Rodney_ , musky with pizza and day old sweat. When the shirt got in the way of his kisses he pulled it over Rodney’s head, and oh, oh, yes. This was what he’d wanted -- smooth, pale skin, the little mole under his right armpit John was obsessed with licking, the little tuft of hair at his chest and down, down, down to the thick bush at his groin. 

His hand followed his eyes, and his tongue followed his hand, and then Rodney was groaning, that low, continuous burr of sound, as John fit his mouth where Rodney wanted it the most.

John was not a cock sucker. He wasn’t good at it -- his teeth always got in the way, and he never knew how hard to suck, and his jaw tired quickly -- but that didn’t mean he didn’t love it, because oh, God, he did. When it came to sex John had always been a man about flavor, and Rodney’s cock was the kind he craved. The wrinkled skin, which he could pull back and find the head of Rodney’s cock, shiny and wet and slippery on his tongue. The thick vein on the underside, the smaller ones up top… and his favorite, the edge around the head, the thick ridge that fit so good against the inside of his lips. He loved closing his mouth around it and sucking hard, tongue lashing at the slit as long as he could hold his breath.

“Oh, God,” Rodney gasped, shuddering so hard his voice wobbled. His skin had gone dewy against John’s palms, shaking and covered in goose bumps. “Oh, God, yes, oh!”

John let go, and yeah, his jaw hurt, and his mouth kind of tingled, but it was a good feeling, a familiar one. Rodney moaned with loss, but John just gently licked at his balls, cheek resting against Rodney’s thigh. “You smell like pizza,” he said, and leaned up into Rodney’s fingers as they slid through his hair. “Pizza and porn. It’s like college, only with fewer pimples.”

“You still had pimples in college?” Rodney asked, shaky and disgruntled. “And could we save the conversation for when you _aren’t_ sucking my cock?”

John ignored the vibration of pleasure his body got at hearing ‘cock’ come out of Rodney’s mouth. “Pimples _and_ braces. Also, we have no lube.”

“Lube? What -- oh.” Rodney tipped his head, and they both turned to stare at the bedside table six feet away, where lube and condoms waited. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. John gently tongued Rodney’s balls again, then sucked at the edge where his cock met his belly, licking softly. “You want to fuck me?”

“Not necessarily.” John glanced up, waited until Rodney’s eyes were on him, then pressed kisses up Rodney‘s dick.

“ _Oh_. Right, um, you want me to… right,” Rodney breathed, and stroked his fingers through John’s hair again. “Um. Right. Uh…” he glanced around, and John gave him credit for being only a _little_ frantic. “Um, I have a condom in my wallet, which is in my pants, which are clear across the room.”

“Not going to help us,” John sing-songed against the head of Rodney’s dick. 

“Oh _God_ , I’ve mentioned I hate you, right?”

John lazily rubbed one rasping cheek against sensitive skin. 

Rodney stopped babbling for a second and John looked up, only to see him staring at the pizza box. John looked too.

There was half a pizza sitting in the third box. Half of the greasiest pizza John had ever eaten. Rodney looked at John hopefully. John glared back. “Rodney, I swear to God that if you use pizza grease as lube I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Well then, get up and get the lube!”

“As the fuckee, it’s insulting to have to get the _lube_. Didn’t they teach you anything in Gay Finishing School?”

“As a matter of fact they did, like arguing with the man who is about to fuck you leads to no fucking.” Rodney snapped his fingers. “Chop chop! Lube, condom.” He regally lifted his chin, then blinked at him hopefully, and John thought maybe he fell in love with him all over again. “Also, since you’re up, and you’ve got to take your clothes off anyway…oh. Um. If you don’t mind doing a little striptease?”

It was only because he asked so nicely, John would think later, and because stripping for Rodney was never the awkward thing it had been when other people had asked it of him. Rodney looked at him like he could swallow him whole, and John loved seeing that look on him more than anything else. Loved seeing Rodney’s hands twitch like he wanted nothing more than to reach out and strip him, suck and bite and squeeze until John was a quivering mess. He got so into it, got so hard, that when he finally spread John’s legs and shoved into him, he fucked with the power and speed his body always promised was waiting there, quivering. It was the kind of high John had never felt before, that he had the ability to bring Rodney down to his base component, that male need to push and shove and fuck and fight. It was _intoxicating_.

“The things I do for you, pervert.” He climbed to his feet between Rodney’s legs and unbuttoned his pants with a flick of his fingers just to see Rodney’s eyes go dark. “I feel like I’m in an Aerosmith video,” John said, letting his palms ride the edges of his own thigh muscles, up over his hips, and then stroked over his hips, over the bruises Rodney had left there not two days ago. “Should I flip my hair a little?”

“If you can do it like Liv Tyler. If not, please refrain,” Rodney said, without ever taking his eyes off of John’s hands as they slowly peeled his t-shirt up. “My God, how much pizza did you _eat_?” He brushed his hands over John’s stomach. His very large, pizza-filled stomach. 

John peered down at it, turning in profile and sticking his belly out even further. “Do I look fat in these pants, darling?”

“No, just sad and middle aged,” Rodney said, thumbing John‘s belly button.

John sighed too, in a sad and middle-aged fashion, dragging his fingers up his chest. “Don’t forget hairy.”

“I could braid your chest hair,” Rodney said with a nod, licking his lips as John teased his own nipples a little in the midst of the bush of hair there. Not so sensitive as Rodney’s, but sensitive enough. “Skinny,” Rodney added, breathless. Though that might have been because John was cupping himself through his pants, sweet relief, squeezing enough to keep the edge off. “Also, don’t forget, gay. So very gay.”

John grinned at him, couldn’t _not_. He arched a brow and teased his fingers over the swell of his balls. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”

“The hair,” Rodney said, licking his lips. “And the whole part where you love putting your cock in my ass. And hey, this is supposed to be a strip tease. Where’s the dancing?”

“There’s no music,” John said, the words familiar in his mouth. Rodney made the Squishy Face of Gene Activation and John couldn’t help grinning, then laughing out loud when the familiar music started, piped in through the little speakers in John‘s room. Atlantis seemed to smile with him, because she turned the music up. “Billy Idol? You are such a sick freak. This is _not_ stripping music.”

“Well, you’re dancing! With yourself!” Rodney said, grinning. 

“What was it you called me last time? Flailing White Guy?”

Rodney didn’t exactly choke on the snort, but it was a near thing. “It’s just that your joints do a thing.”

John made his own Squishy Face and yes, this was it -- Black Velvet, the kind of music people could strip by, the kind of music _John_ could strip by, because Rodney’s grin was just a little too patronizing and John wanted to wipe it off his face. “You’re looking for a striptease, McKay?” he asked, eyebrow arched as he thrust his hips forward, just to see Rodney chortle and groan at the same time. “A little show, huh?”

“I think that was the point, yes,” Rodney said, still grinning. 

“Well, then,” John said, smug. He put his foot on the arm of the chair and shoved it back three feet, just to see Rodney’s eyes widen.

And then he stripped.

John had done this more than once, because early on in their relationship Rodney had admitted to a weakness for it. John thought he’d been too old to have a new kink, but it just went to show -- Rodney was nothing if not inspirational. The first few times had been awkward, but Rodney had been so turned on by those pitiful shows that John had kind of… sort of… gotten into it. Made it good. 

He knew what turned Rodney on. Rodney liked it when John’s head fell back, exposing his throat, the tendons standing up in sharp relief when John moaned. He liked it when John undid his pants button for button, then slid his hand down to cup himself. He really loved it when John finally shoved his pants down, boxers too, and stroked his cock to leaking over his belly.

John kind of liked it, too.

He slid his hand down the back of his boxers, letting his fingers touch where he wanted them most. He heard Rodney moan, but that was the whole point, and oh, yes, it felt good -- it wasn’t _in_ , but he could feel himself tense, that warm flood of blood that fell aching into his cock making it so much better. The pants fell to the floor. His boxers followed, and he flicked them at Rodney just because he could. 

After a detour for the lube, he climbed onto the loveseat, one knee to either side of Rodney‘s hips, and grinned smugly down at him. “Hi.”

“Hi. You have your socks on,” Rodney said, wide eyed and panting. “That’s not very sexy.”

“You know you like it,” John said, sliding forward and pressing them chest to chest, cock to cock. Skin, heat, blood, Rodney’s panting breaths in his ear and his hands sliding desperately up and down John’s back. That power was there, right _there_ , vibrating in Rodney’s shoulders, his hands on John’s skin, his thighs under John’s. He knew what Rodney wanted, could feel it in the fingertips leaving brands on John’s back. John could see it in his minds eye, the touch-memory of Rodney’s hands, his hips, the way his balls would slap against John’s when John was on his hands and knees, fucking him so hard John could feel him in his throat. Yes, he knew what Rodney wanted, because he wanted it too, but they were playing a game here, a game they’d started playing from the second they met each other. John thought he loved it almost as he loved sex, because it was _Rodney_ in a way Rodney wasn’t with other people.

“Yes, you’re so hot with white tube socks falling down your chicken legs,” Rodney said, and grabbed a handful of ass and a handful of hair. He yanked John’s head back, and John let out a startled moan, because yes, oh, Rodney pushed his tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat, and it was like they had a straight-line connection with his cock. Rodney sucked and John’s cock jerked, twitching for the second it took Rodney’s big hand to catch them both. He could just see them, their twin cockheads peeking out of the loop of Rodney’s fingers, so beautiful.

Then Rodney went and thrust his hips against John’s ass, and John let out the kind of groan last heard in a barn yard. Rodney didn’t hold it against him, though. Well, aside from the loud snort in John’s ear. He hauled John up high onto his knees, and leaned down, and oh, oh, _oh_. 

If John wasn’t good at cock sucking, then Rodney was the antithesis. He watched, because he couldn’t _not_ watch, as his cock slid deeper and deeper into Rodney’s mouth, as his eyes fluttered back in his head, as his hands touched and his face softened and everything _calmed_ in Rodney. John watched as he let go, because it was the kind of gift no one looked away from.

Pleasure swamped him, head to curling toes. He felt it tingle across his scalp, rush down his back to where Rodney was holding him, encouraging his thrusts. His fingers went through Rodney’s hair, down his cheek, his neck, feeling him working at John’s cock, and John didn’t know what he’d done to get this, but he was grateful, so damn grateful.

Rodney tapped his thigh and John got it, _yes_. He spread his legs and wet slipped between his cheeks, up and calming something that had been jittering. Those fingers stroked, deep and _in_ and Rodney’s mouth, yes please, oh, deeper and deeper until John couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take it, “Now,” he gasped, clenching down onto those fingers, “Now, dammit!”

“Not yet,” Rodney hummed. He got it though, because his mouth pressed to John’s, and he tasted like summer skin, and like _John_ , and like himself. His fingers stroked into John’s ass, sending pleasure flying all through his body. 

It burned and it ached, and John watched as Rodney’s eyes went round with shocked pleasure, just like every time. He looked so damn proud, and pleased with himself, that John couldn’t help but give a shimmy, send muscles rippling and milking around those fingers in him to remind him what he was proud about. “Yes,” he hissed, eyes closed. “Fuck, Rodney, come on, come _on_.”

“Going as fast as I can, here. I need these fingers for making miracles, tight ass,” Rodney snapped, working said fingers in said very, very tight ass. “Are you being purposely hard to loosen up, just to annoy me?”

John squeezed down on the fingers. “If I said yes?”

“I’d call you a liar, because I _felt_ that -- oh, holy hell -- and… what was I going to say?” Rodney asked, and pushed in a third finger. 

_Oh_. John‘s back arched all on its own, his leaking cock sliding against Rodney‘s belly, and Rodney touched _that spot_ , and John‘s eyes rolled back into his head. “You were going to say that’s enough prep and you need to get inside me right the hell now.”

Rodney ignored him, and bit hickeys into his collarbone “You want this?” His fingers thrust and John’s head dropped back, because finally, yes, he was loose enough and there was enough give to work his hips with Rodney’s fingers. It wasn’t enough, not big enough or wide enough, a fucking _tease_ of what was to come. John hated it and loved it at the same time, because foreplay was great but sometimes he wanted a _fuck_ , and this was one of those times. 

John didn’t have a lot of cards to play when he was pinned like this, and Rodney _knew_ it. Still, John started out small, because sometimes, when Rodney was close to the edge, begging worked. “Fuck me,” John gasped, rocking. “You wanted me to say it, there it is -- fuck me, fuck me right the hell now or I swear--”

“You swear what?” Rodney asked, eyes gleaming. Apparently today was _not_ one of those days where that was going to work. He pushed his fingers in deeper, teasing touches down John’s aching, twitching cock.

“Rodney, please,” John begged, throat hurting so badly with need that he could barely swallow around it. Rodney caught his hip and moved him into the rhythm of his fingers, mouth working on his neck, and John held as tight as he could to the back of the sofa. “Please, please, please, fuck me, please. I swear, I’ll do whatever you want, seriously, turn stuff on, I’m your man, haul crates, got it, _fuck me now_.”

“Nope,” Rodney sing-songed cheerfully, as if his cock wasn’t jerking against John’s ass, as if his fingers weren’t root-deep in said ass. “You know what I want.”

John did, he really did, and he hated Rodney in that moment more than he hated greasy hair-care products and requisitions and _Sleepless in Seattle_. “I swear to God, Rodney, I swear, I’m going to… going to do something really, really bad to you if you don’t…”

“I see we’ve reached the violence threat portion of today’s program,” Rodney said, and rubbed his thumb hard along the stretch of skin between asshole and balls at the same time he rubbed John‘s prostate. John roared before he could stop himself, gasping and shuddering so badly he’d have fallen off Rodney’s lap had Rodney not pulled him close. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it,” he said, and bit John’s nipple so hard John felt the orgasm leap to the back of his throat. He pushed it back with effort.

“No!”

“Say it,” Rodney said, and brushed his mouth against John’s chin, his ear, his temple. His lips. “Say it,” he whispered, and kissed John like he always did, with such tenderness, and yes, yes, John could say it. “I love you,” because he did, he really did, “but I hate you more,” and Rodney smiled at him, crooked and tender.

Rodney pulled his fingers free and lined himself up, and _finally_. Rodney’s hands went to John’s hips, fit into the bruises, and John hung onto the back of the couch and sank down, filling himself. He ached in a way he never had before Rodney, never would again. Nothing so stupid as finding his other half, or anything as ridiculous as that, but… sometimes a person just knew when it was right, and this, with Rodney, this was as right as anything could ever be.

“Tell me,” John said, lifting slowly. The long, languid pull of cock sliding out of him was replaced by the warm, aching push of cock sliding back in. Deep, so deep. 

“Needy,” Rodney said, and John could see now the effort of their game, because he was sweating, cheeks flushed, his eyes dark and filled with all the things they didn’t say. “You want to hear it, huh? Shall I sing you an ode while I’m at it?”

“I’ve heard the way you sing, Rodney. Don’t forget who you share showers with,” John said, as if he wasn’t gasping for it, as if Rodney hadn’t taken control. The hands on his hips moved John harder than he wanted, faster than he needed, and the burn that had been building in John gave way to heat so intense he almost blacked out. Suddenly the game didn’t matter anymore, because need had reached a crescendo and he needed it, he needed to be fucked, he needed Rodney’s power to drown out his own, now, _right now._

Rodney knew. John was gasping, “Fuck me,“ and Rodney was already moving, already pulling John off of his cock. He pushed John up and then right back down, to the edge of his bed. Yes. Yes, oh, yes, God. Rodney stood, and for a second, in the dim light of John’s room, he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, exotic, like something off of a Greek vase. His cock stood straight and long, and his arms bunched, and his thighs tensed, and John thought that maybe he was about to get the fucking of his life.

He only had a second to push himself up the bed before Rodney was there, shoving John’s legs up onto his forearms, and sinking, sinking, sinking, back and forever and so deep inside that John wasn‘t alone anymore. He kept pushing, and John pushed his hips up, more, deeper, _in_. Rodney’s mouth was there, finally, finally like John wanted, kissing him like John knew, Rodney, Rodney, hands shaking against John’s face, muscles trembling, and his hips, pistoning, moving them on a pace John couldn’t take, and wanted, and hated, and needed.

“Touch me. Rodney,” and John grabbed a handful of his hair, and shifted his hips, and tensed his thighs, and thought for a second that he was going to cry.

“Yes.” Rodney took hold of his cock, stripping him of every defense. “Like this, come like this. I love you. Christ,” and his mouth was back, and he was trembling against John’s lips, and orgasm came back up into John’s throat, behind his eyeballs, roaring through his ears and his blood and his mouth. Rodney stilled, and pushed into the center of the wreckage of John’s body, and John heard him howl over his own sob.

And then it was nothing but breathing, breathing like it was going out of style, great heaving, bellowing pants between them. They might have lain there for an hour, a day, a week, John didn’t know; he just stroked his hand through Rodney’s sweaty hair until Rodney tipped his face up to him and the world moved one step to the right. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” John said. His voice caught, guttural, in his throat. 

He opened one eye to see Rodney, smiling at him, and couldn’t help grinning back. “Are we entertained now, Colonel Randy?”

“Colonel Sleepy-and-Post-Coital, thank you.” 

Rodney brushed his fingers over John’s hair, his cheek. “You know what would be great right now?”

“What’s that?”

“ _Pizza_ ,” Rodney said, with lust in his voice that had nothing to do with the quiescent cock pressed warm against John’s butt cheek.

John’s lips turned up. “And beer.”

“And season 3 of _Doctor Who_.”

Yeah, well. Like John could argue against _that_.


End file.
